Angel of Redemption (95 page)

“Stephanie Newbaker. Yes. She’s missed the last
three visits with her kids. I don’t know where she is. She was doing fine and
then
poof
. Gone. The super said she didn’t pay rent this month
and when he went to collect, the place was trashed. I can’t find her anywhere,”
Sara huffed, unaware that I was standing in the doorway. “Yeah, and when I
called the testing center, they said her last urine from three weeks ago was
dirty.”

I cleared my throat, feeling guilty for standing
there listening. She turned around in her seat and grimaced. “I’ll keep trying,
but I’m not putting up with this. Okay, thanks. Bye.”

“Sorry,” I winced. “I brought you lunch.” I held
up the bag of burgers and French fries.

“Aw, thanks, sweetie.” She motioned me over and
cleared a chair for me to sit in. “Did you hear all of that?”

I nodded. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s fine. Do you happen to know where she is?

I shook my head. “No. I can ask Dean, but I doubt
he would have heard from her and not said anything.”

“I figured, but you know how it is. I can’t move
forward before I’ve tried to find her,” she sighed. “I had high hopes, too.”

We dropped the subject after that, talking
instead about how things were going with her and my brother. He’d told me a few
days before that he was getting ready to propose. Keeping that from her was
hard, but Andy made me promise.

Their wedding was beautiful
—very
formal and fancy. Sara looked like a princess. Dean was the best man, and I was
the maid of honor. We all laughed when Dean’s toast included the fact that he
really didn’t like Andy when I first introduced them and was pretty sure the
feeling was mutual. Andy nodded.

When the wedding photographs came back, Sara gave
me a couple. I hung them on the wall of our living room.

“Have you ever seen our wedding photos?” Emily
asked, staring at them one night when we were getting ready to go out.

“Uh, yeah. A long time ago, why?”

She dug through her purse and pulled out a
crinkled old wallet photograph, handing it to me. I did remember seeing it
—on
the wall of the office in Emily and Aiden’s house the day Dean and I decided to
be “friends.” Best. Decision. Ever.

“Tell me that’s not a difference.” She smiled. I
looked down at the photo, hating the dead eyes staring back at me, and then
back up at the vibrant ones from just a few weeks before. “Maybe we need to get
remarried,” she teased. “…Or maybe you and Dean?”

I ignored her comment. Dean and I were happy and
comfortable. If we never got married, I didn’t care. I didn’t need the title.

At least that’s what I thought.

He did it in typical Dean fashion. No bells, no
whistles. It took him nearly five minutes to get the question out as he stood
in front of me in our bedroom while I towel dried my hair after a shower.

“What are you talking about?” I asked after he’d
mumbled his way through something about the beach house and a dream he’d had.
He swallowed and held out his hand, a little green velvet box perched in his
palm. My heart stumbled over itself. Opening the box, I found a gorgeous
solitaire diamond.

“Uh, will you marry me?”

I stood there staring at the ring, stunned. Dean
fidgeted.

“I should have gotten down—on one knee, I
mean. That’s the way it’s supposed to be done, right? Shit. I’m always fucking
things up,” he muttered.

“Dean?”

“Huh?”

“Shut up. You did it perfectly. Yes, I’ll marry
you.”

“You will?” he asked as if he were expecting a
different answer.

I grinned. “If you actually put it on my finger,
I suppose I can manage a lifetime with you,” I teased.

Almost exactly two years after our first trip
there, Dean and I were married in a small ceremony at the beach house in
Michigan. There were less than twenty people in attendance
—family
and close friends only. It was a perfect, gorgeous afternoon with only a few
clouds in the sky.

My mom wasn’t there. I didn’t invite her. She no
longer lived at the penthouse, and that’s about all I knew. Richard had been
found guilty of felony insurance fraud and was sentenced to fifty-two months in
jail with three years of probation and ordered to pay back almost a million
dollars to the insurance companies. He was also accused of medical malpractice,
which resulted in him losing his job, his license, and most of his and my mom’s
money after multiple civil suits were filed against him.

I’m not going to lie and say I don’t worry.
Regardless of the fact that she essentially threw Claire and me away, she’s
still my mother, and deep down I love her. But she made her choice. Someday,
she’ll realize the mistake she made. Whether or not Claire and I are willing to
forgive her is still unknown.

“What are you wearing on your feet?” Emily asked
as I lifted my simple, fitted lace wedding gown up to walk down the stairs.

“Shoes.”

“Red ones?”

I shrugged. “I’ll take them off before I walk.
Dean likes these ones
…a lot.”

“You two are so weird,” she snorted.

I did take them off to walk down the sandy aisle,
but not before Dean got a good look. The glint in his eye as I neared him was
enough to make me blush.

“You don’t play fair,” he whispered in my ear,
kissing my cheek after my father handed me off.

“You’re marrying me. I thought you knew that by
now.” I smirked.

“You’ll be putting them back on later.”

The minister cleared his throat. “Are we ready?”

“Absolutely,” Dean said, gripping my hand.

The ceremony was quick, and, just like that I
became Mrs. Dean Wyatt. We drank and danced well into the evening, and when it
started pouring down rain and everyone else scrambled for cover, Dean and I
stood outside, letting our fancy clothes get drenched. I’m sure we would have
been freezing had we been paying any attention
—but we weren’t. We
just kept dancing. After everyone left to go to their respective rentals, Dean
and I retreated to the beach house alone.

“Are you cold?” he asked, wrapping his arms
around me and gliding his fingertips over my bare arms.

“N-n-no,” I lied, my teeth chattering.

“That’s a shame. I was thinking of warming you
up, but if you’re okay
…” He let go of me and began walking away,
loosening his bow tie as he went. “I’m going to take a shower.”

I followed him and watched as he turned the water
on and undressed. I had no plans to let him do anything naked without me for at
least the next few days.

“Will you unzip me before you get in?” I asked,
turning and lifting my hair. I could feel him behind me, but it took him
several minutes before he actually pulled the zipper down my back, ending just
above my tailbone.

“You look so beautiful in this,” he whispered,
his warm breath touching my ear. “Thank you for marrying me.”

I let the dress slip from my shoulders. Dean
unclasped the bra and slid my panties down my legs, leaving me bare. I turned
around, looked down at him as he kneeled in front of me, and brushed my fingers
over his smooth cheek.

“I always intended on spending the rest of my
life with you, Dean Wyatt. Being able to do it as your wife is an added bonus.
Thank you for asking me.”

He smiled and leaned in, kissing the skin just
below my belly button. When he began moving lower, I got excited. I didn’t
realize how excited until his tongue slid languidly over the tender and swollen
flesh between my legs. My knees started to buckle. Luckily, Dean caught me,
laying me gently on the bed and draping my legs over his shoulders while he
tasted me. He wasn’t in a hurry, choosing to torture me by licking and sucking
slowly. He brought me to the brink twice before stopping completely.

“Come on, baby,” he said, helping me up. “Let’s
finish this in the shower.”

“It’s too small,” I protested.

“For showering, maybe.” He smirked. “We’ll figure
it out.”

We stepped into the tiny stall, letting the
steaming water drip down over our bodies. Dean dipped his head, taking my mouth
in a kiss to end all kisses. His tongue tasted of me as it drew me in, making
my head spin. My skin tingled with a million little pinpricks. It would have
been too much for any other night. But it wasn’t any other night. It was our
wedding night, and I relished the feeling.

Without breaking away, he lifted me up, pressing
me against the wall. My mouth dropped open as he slid into me, and I let out a
soft cry.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” I gasped. “God, I love you.”

He took my lips again, this time while thrusting
upward into me. I could feel him everywhere. Unable to hold back anymore, I
came with a violently intense shudder. Dean sped up, and before the aftershocks
of my own orgasm had faded, he was pulsing inside me. He continued to hold me
until we had both come down, but with the water beginning to chill, he had to
let me go. He kissed me one more time and grabbed a towel.

“See. I told you we’d figure it out.” I laughed
as he turned off the water and wrapped the towel around me. “Ready for bed?”

“Bed or sleep?”

“Sweetheart,” he smirked. “I hope you’re
well-rested, because I don’t intend on letting you sleep at all for the next
twenty-four hours.”

Best twenty-four hours of my life.

* * *

The giant screen above the
stage lights up with a picture of Dean, Gage, and a group of friends from
before the accident. They’re smiling and happy. A few more pass by, each one
showing carefree kids. But this is not a marshmallow presentation about the
joys of being young.

The next slide shows an image of the crash. The
twisted metal and burnt-out shell of Dean’s car. There’s a series of gasps,
groans, and other noises of surprise.

“I was driving that car,” Dean says solemnly. “I
was sixteen. My best friend Gage was a passenger.” Another image of Gage and
Dean before the accident pops up on the screen. Then a picture of Gage that was
taken about six months ago when he agreed to be a part of Dean’s presentation.
More gasps. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, and he’s standing
using braces instead of his prosthetic leg, the stump prominently on display
along with the scars that cover his body. “Gage was a state champion swimmer.
He was popular and smart. Was looking at a full-ride scholarship to college.
Now he’s a recovering alcoholic and drug addict. He struggles every minute of
every day to stay sober. He can’t keep a steady job. He has no family and very
few friends. I did that to him.”

Next is a series of pictures of Dean in the
hospital. He chose not to use the most graphic ones of his burnt and peeling
flesh, but they’re still pretty shocking. The bruises, the bandages, the
scarring.

“You’d think destroying your best friend’s life
would be the worst part,” Dean says, looking down. “But you’d be wrong.” The
slide changes. He doesn’t look back up.

Last year, Colin contacted the family of Nadia
and Ian Wilde. Although they didn’t want to meet with Dean, they agreed to
allow him to use the family’s picture in his presentation.

“This is the family I killed.”

I look over at the illuminated faces of the
students. Expressions are solemn, mouths are agape. Every single one of them is
paying attention.

“I thought I was cool. I had a fast new car, and
I wanted to show it off. I didn’t listen when Gage told me to slow down. I didn’t
even see the other car.” Dean takes a sip from the bottle of water he’d brought
out to the podium with him. “They were just coming home from dinner when I lost
control. Just out doing family things. I heard her scream for her baby. I
watched her die.”

They listen to him as he describes the accident,
his trial, his fear, his sentence. He talks about what it was like in juvie and
afterward, including his jail time. He doesn’t get into why he went to jail or
anything about Stephanie, but instead focuses on how his decisions affected not
only his life, but also the lives of others.

“I’m not here to treat you like children or to
scold you for the things you do or the decisions you make,” Dean says, wrapping
things up. “But if my story can make you think
—can prevent just
one person from the pain and hurt I caused—it’s worth telling over and
over again.” Dean stops talking. The room is eerily silent.

“Does anyone have any appropriate questions for
Mr. Wyatt?” The principal asks, stepping back out onto the stage. A few hands
shoot up. This is the part Dean wasn’t looking forward to. His presentation he
can control, but not the questions. Most of them are centered on his scars and
what it was like in jail. One kid does ask what he was sent to jail for. He
glances at me.

“I was arrested on drug possession charges,” he
answers truthfully. “It’s a slippery slope. I couldn’t stay on my feet.”

After a few minutes, the principal takes the
podium. He thanks Dean, and the room applauds. While the principal goes over a
few announcements before dismissal, I stand up and meet Dean as he comes off
the stage.